Callum Robertson has inherited his grandfather’s mansion in northern Scotland, but the house comes with a history he knew nothing about—should he be thrilled, or feel threatened as the house seems to lure him in?
When Callum Robertson first sees the old Scottish country mansion his grandfather bequeathed him, his immediate instinct is to sell the antiquated pile for whatever he can get for it—admittedly not much in a downturned market. Then he meets Craig MacPherson, a local farmer with auburn curls and sparkling gray eyes, and suddenly the gloomy old house doesn’t look quite the white elephant it first appeared to be.
Craig tells Callum that it’s rumored the house is haunted but by what or whom no one seems to know. Books flying off shelves then being mysteriously replaced give Callum pause to reconsider his rejection of the idea of an actual ghost haunting the place. When he finds a journal relating to the history of his family, he is, by turn, intrigued then fascinated as the saga unfolds through the writings of his ancestors.
An encounter with what he feels must be the spirit of his great-great-great-uncle Alistair makes him change his mind not only about selling the house, but also about his future with Craig.
|Publisher:||Totally Entwined Group Ltd|
|Sold by:||Barnes & Noble|
|File size:||3 MB|
About the Author
J.P Bowie was born in Scotland and toured British theatres in numerous musical shows including Stephen Sondheim's Company.
Emigrated to the States and worked in Las Vegas, Nevada for the magicians Siegfried and Roy as their Head of Wardrobe at the Mirage Hotel. Currently living in Henderson, Nevada.
Read an Excerpt
Copyright © J.P. Bowie 2016. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Pride Publishing.
Callum Robertson climbed out of his BMW and, with a fair degree of shock, surveyed the property he had inherited from his grandfather, Edward Robertson. The old man Callum scarcely knew of, had never met had bequeathed this—he wasn’t quite sure what to call it, but the word ‘folly’ might have been the one he was searching for. He’d heard it used to describe things that might have been built for decorative purposes only. What he was staring at wasn’t really a folly, despite the several griffin and gargoyle heads that lined the building’s walls and eaves. It could be lived in, he supposed, as he walked toward the several steps that led to an overly ornamental front door flanked by two rather stiff and comical-looking lions.
“Someone goose you?” he asked the one on his left, which stared back at him, a glazed expression in its strangely crossed eyes. Shaking his head, he inserted the large key into the brass lock and turned it. The heavy door creaked open and he couldn’t stop the wry chuckle that slipped from his lips.
“Cue the creepy music,” he muttered.
Once inside, he gaped at the size of the entry hall he’d walked into. The afternoon sun, streaming through the stained glass windows over his head, illuminated the interior better than any spotlight. All shades of greens and blues danced over the oak-paneled walls and marble floors and picked out the crystal prisms on the chandelier that hung in majestic splendor from the vaulted ceiling. To his right, a staircase curved upward to the floor above. It reminded him of the set in the musical Sunset Boulevard that he’d seen two, or was it three years ago, in Edinburgh, or Manchester maybe? He traveled around so much he found it hard to remember particular dates and places after a time.
“Amazing,” he murmured, then entered a large room off the cavernous entry. Obviously the living room, it too sported paneled walls adorned with portrait and landscape paintings. The furniture was shrouded in dust sheets—some, probably high-backed chairs, giving the appearance of silent guardians. Callum was glad he’d left the front door open or the silence would have been oppressive, but from outside he could hear the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves stirred by a soft breeze that brought a fresh scent into this too long closed up mausoleum.
“What am I going to do with this lot?” he said aloud as he walked back into the entry and started to climb the stairs to the upper level.
“It’s all he had to leave you,” Matthew Cross, his grandfather’s solicitor had told him, “but the good thing is it’s free and clear, no mortgage to worry about, just the upkeep really.”
And that would be fierce. The place was huge. Seven bedrooms, Cross had told him, six bathrooms, a library, a dining room to seat twelve, a fully equipped kitchen and five acres of land. There was even a pool, thankfully indoors. He couldn’t begin to imagine how much it would cost to keep an outdoor swimming pool heated in Scotland. Even indoors it would be a bloody fortune, most likely. Well, he’d have to sell the place, that’s all. Although finding a buyer in a depressed market for a mansion north of Inverness, miles off the beaten track, and, from the looks of things, needing quite a bit of work, might just prove impossible.
He paused at the door to one of the bedrooms. Am I being an ingrate? he wondered as he pushed it open and stepped inside. In the dim light he could make out the shape of an immense four-poster bed that dominated one wall. He walked over to the window and pulled open the heavy brocade curtains letting welcome daylight fill the room. The bathroom was an eye-opener. A huge marbled space with an enormous bathtub on clawed feet, complete with brass fittings that included a hand-held shower.
“Nice…” He had a sudden longing to fill the bath and take a good long soak in sudsy water. Hmm… Much better than that plastic piece of rubbish in my flat. He caught his reflection in the large gilded mirror over the sink and stopped to peer at himself for a moment. He looked tired, he thought. There were shadows under his blue eyes. Too many nights poring over sales sheets and inventories. He ran a hand through his dark, almost black hair, then turned on the tap to splash his face with water. After a lot of rumbling and cranking noises, a thin stream of something brownish-yellow trickled out.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I want so much more from this story. What do they say, it has good bones. I get insta-lust/love. My marriage is a product of it, so all true! The problem is, we as readers don’t really feel the connection one needs to feel to say, yes! they got that bite, that insta! It’s more two men, alone in the highlands, having a shag fest. I liked how Callum and Craig wanted to work everything out, in between sexapedes but really, how did they? I love the history that was thrown in, the quirks that led them to the end we got. Just less time in bed or time planning would have seemed more realistic. On the plus side, the home, WOW what a home, I want one! the history, the ghost, all of it! I want to stay in the BB, I want to ride horses on the land, I WANT! I was given a copy in exchange for an honest review by Crystals Many reviewers
This book takes place in Scotland which I am sure is a massive surprise considering the title! Callum has a flat in Edinburgh, but goes to the Highlands to see the house that he has inherited from the grandfather he has never met, and now never will. Upon his arrival, he meets his next door neighbour and the spark between them is instantaneous. With a hint of the supernatural about it, just enough to give Callum a nudge, this story is well-paced and thought out. It moves smoothly, giving the characters enough time to get to know each other even if they do go to bed together the first night - because no one ever does that in real life, right?! This book simply ticked all my boxes. With excellent characters, whether you like them or not, a back story that completes the picture, romance, steam, supernatural, sadness, hope - it's all here. I loved every word and didn't want it to finish. Absolutely recommended by me. Merissa Archaeolibrarian - I Dig Good Books!